


Welcome Home

by msred



Series: Starting Over [28]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Almost smut, F/M, Family, Fluff and Humor, Innuendo, Married Life, Reunions, Separations, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: By the time it was almost two a.m., I was still awake in bed, book open on my knees and my mind completely unfocused on what I was supposed to be reading, the quiet of the New England winter night enveloping me. And that’s why I was pretty sure I heard the car as it pulled slowly up our long driveway.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor) & Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor) & Reader, Chris Evans (Actor) & You, Chris Evans (Actor)/Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You
Series: Starting Over [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1423663
Comments: 18
Kudos: 33





	Welcome Home

_ 24 months together, 8 months married (February, Year 4) _

It was nearly silent, save for the occasional cricket outside or sleep-whimper from one of the dogs. On any other night I’d have been asleep for a couple hours, at least, by that point. Actually, I was ‘supposed’ to be asleep then. Chris was on his way home from a week in California for the Academy Awards, only our second time apart since we’d been married, and I wasn’t supposed to wait up. We’d considered me going with him, but ultimately we’d decided against it. He’d gotten double-tapped that year for presenting duties, taking the stage at both the Golden Globes and the Oscars. We’d sat down and weighed the pros and cons of me coming along for both, going to one or the other, or attending neither. Me going to both was never going to be the best option, both because of the disruption to my own routine working with both a local youth center and a women’s and children’s shelter in Boston, and also because me staying home meant more normalcy for the dogs. 

Me going to neither wasn’t what either of us wanted either, though. Aside from the story in  _ Esquire  _ and our own social media posts - and the flurry of write ups that followed - we’d lain low since getting married. There had been some attention garnered by my impromptu visit to Atlanta the previous fall while he was working there, but we hadn’t formally made any ‘appearances’ as a couple. We both knew it would have to happen eventually, even as much as we loved being able to pretend that we had anonymity while holed up at home in Massachusetts. Besides, we didn’t want to let fear of the press stop us from getting to be together, do things like this,  _ together _ . 

So, after weighing our options, we’d decided that me going with him to the Golden Globes and staying home for the Oscars seemed like the best option. Either would provide roughly the same setting for us to ‘come out’ as a couple - fancy clothes, red carpet, media attention that was being shared with many other people just as famous as him - so what it came down to was where I would feel more comfortable, and Chris assured me that would be the Globes. It was a slightly more relaxed setting, with its drinks and tables (and we were sharing a table with a handful of his co-stars from the movie he’d done back in the fall, all of whom I’d met and spent at least a little time with in Atlanta) and the freedom to get up and move around from time to time. The Oscars were more formal and didn’t have the same opportunity for conversation. Plus, according to him, the events that went along with the Globes were just more fun. Overall, it just made sense for me to go with him in January to the Globes and stay home the next month as he spent a week on the west coast going to fittings, fulfilling all his official Oscars duties, and even getting in a few appearances here and there to promote the movie, which had just had its first trailer released. 

Unfortunately for us, the last of those interviews had been scheduled for the day after the awards, so between the interview itself, the buffer time scheduled to allow him plenty of time to get to the airport, and the time difference between the east and west coasts, Chris’s plane wasn’t landing until after midnight in Boston. Add in waiting for his bags and then the drive from the airport to home, and it was the early hours of the morning before he was expected home. I’d tried to insist that I would pick him up, promising to take the day off from volunteering at the youth center that day, to sleep in, even to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon, all so I would be well-rested enough to drive safely, but he wasn’t having it. He told me there was no point in me forcing myself to not only stay awake but to drive back and forth like that just to sit in a dark car with him when he would probably be too tired to be good company. I’d finally relented, but only after laying out my own rules - that he would hire a car to bring him home and not try to drive himself, and that I would most definitely not go into either of my volunteer positions the day after he got home. He hadn’t argued with me at all about me staying home to spend the day with him once he was back, but he hadn’t liked the part about him having to hire a car, insisting he would be fine to drive himself because really, to his body, it would be three hours earlier than it was for me. He didn’t have a lot of bargaining room though, since if I refused to take his car to the airport and leave it there for him, he didn’t have a choice.

The thing was, he had a point about the time difference, and I knew that. I also knew the toll that weeks like the one he was coming off of had on him. For one thing, his body would only just have adjusted to west coast time for a day or two before he was turning around and coming back east. That’s physically exhausting for anyone. For another, he had very little downtime while he was there, running around from one appointment or scheduled event to another. And finally, and probably most importantly, that sort of thing exhausted him more than it did a lot of other people in his position. The need to be ‘on,’ to entertain and make others happy - as himself, not as a character - on a stage or in front of a camera took a toll on him, mentally and emotionally. And so I knew, by the time it was all over and he felt like he could relax and let his guard down, the fumes that he’d been running on for days would dissipate and he would crash. I wanted to feel comfortable knowing that he wasn’t going to crash behind the wheel of a car, no pun intended. So we compromised. He agreed to get a ride home, and I agreed not to wait up for him because he would be, in his words, worthless by the time he got home. 

I may or may not have broken my end of the deal. I did go to bed, later than usual but earlier than I expected him to be home, but I took a book and had been reading by the light of the lamp on my nightstand. I’d also forgone listening to a podcast or calming music like I normally did when I had to go to bed alone, just so I could listen for his car. I hadn’t intentionally lied to him about not waiting up, and if my eyes had started getting heavy, I’d happily have put down the book and turned out the light. But ultimately, I knew myself well enough to know that wouldn’t happen until I knew that he was home, safe and sound. Even Scott, who’d shown up late that morning claiming that he was making it his responsibility to make sure his little sis wasn’t lonely while his big brother was on the other side of the country (code for him being tired of his mom asking about his love life and needing to get out of her house for the short time he had left until  _ he  _ headed back to the other side of the country), seemed to know that I was keeping the house quiet on purpose, because when I’d passed the guest room he was staying in a couple hours earlier on my way to bed after letting the dogs out for the last time, the door was cracked enough that I could see that he was in bed with his computer on his lap and airpods in his ears - a rare occurrence - and he had one hand pressed to his mouth to cover his laugh. 

So, by the time it was almost two a.m., I was still awake in bed, book open on my knees and my mind completely unfocused on what I was supposed to be reading, the quiet of the New England winter night enveloping me. And that’s why I was pretty sure I heard the car as it pulled slowly up our long driveway. And then I was positive I heard two gentle but distinct  _ slams _ , Chris’s car door and, I suspected, the trunk lid. I switched off the bedside lamp and sank down into the pillows and blankets and prepared myself to ‘wake up’ when Chris came in so I could take a minute or two to welcome him home before we both went to sleep for real, almost giddy at the prospect of sleeping next to my husband again. 

Less than a minute after I heard him get out of the car, I flinched when I heard the front door slam into the wall of the entryway. I went still and listened carefully to make sure everything was okay. There was a second slam, him closing the door, I guessed, followed by way too many beeps as he pressed so many buttons on the security panel that I lost count. When I heard him quite literally kick off his shoes, I grabbed my phone from where I kept it in my nightstand drawer when he was away and checked the alarm system app. Somehow, after all those buttons, he’d still managed not to actually set it. I set it myself and I heard the double beep that indicated that the system was armed, followed by a muffled but not quiet  _ Damn right  _ from somewhere around the middle of the stairs. I rolled my eyes and tucked the phone back into the drawer, curling onto my side and pulling the blankets up to my chin.

He wasn’t any quieter when he came into the bedroom. He was trying to be, I could tell, but he was failing miserably. In fact, he was trying so hard that when both dogs stretched and rose from their bed to meet him at the door, neither making a sound, he mildly scolded them both with a  _ Shhhh, Dodge!  _ and  _ Hush, Millie Moo, be a good girl so you don’t wake up your momma.  _ He kissed them what must have been several times each then shooed them back to bed, crossing to the opposite side of the room to undress, tripping over his jeans and barely catching himself, from the sound of it, on the chair before throwing his clothes into it and finally making his way to bed. I wanted so badly to turn on the light so I could watch the whole thing play out, but that would have given me away.

I couldn’t help but think he must’ve been drunk or something, and I would’ve been surprised - it would be unlike him to just get drunk on his own on a flight - but not upset. I prepared myself for the smell of beer, maybe whisky, that I strongly expected to be met with when he climbed between the sheets. 

I didn’t smell either as he wrapped an arm around me from behind and dragged me across the mattress until my back was pressed firmly to his bare chest, his heat seeping instantly through my tank top and warming me to my core. I still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t had a few drinks, just maybe not enough for the scent to linger. And then again, maybe he hadn’t been drinking, which, honestly, would have made the whole thing even funnier.

He took a moment to get comfortable, scooting a little farther down the mattress until finally he pressed his face against the back of my neck and slipped his fingertips under the hem of my shirt just below my belly button. “You okay?” I asked him, just to be sure. He nodded a few times and pressed his lips to the back of my neck through my hair. I smirked, “You sure? Sounded like you were having a little trouble.”

He hummed and nodded again, “‘M good.”

“Okay.” I laid my top forearm along his and slipped my fingers between his over my stomach. “I’m glad you’re home.” 

“Me too.” He tightened his arm around me, pulling me closer still and pushing the breath out of me for a second, nuzzling his nose behind my ear. “Baby?”

I shivered a little as his breath washed over my skin. “Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right?”

It was a harmless question, really. But he’d never said anything like that before, unless it was in the middle of teasing me, just before saying or doing something a little intentionally dick-ish or knowingly upsetting - tickling me breathless, rubbing a Patriots win in my face, breaking the news that some new recipe I’d tried just hadn’t worked out as planned. As far as I could tell, he was in no state to be joking around. On top of that, he actually sounded nervous, a little hesitant, as he said it. I tried not to be nervous myself, to remind myself that he was a loving, devoted husband who had never given me any reason to worry otherwise, but I knew even as I spoke that I was failing at that. “Umm, yeah,” I managed. My muscles were tense and my heart was beating too fast and my breaths were coming far too shallowly. I didn’t know how much of that was anxiety and how much was just pure human insecurity.

If he picked up on my nerves, though, he didn’t let on. He just nodded again and said, “Good. I really wanted to show you how much, been looking forward to it, but I think I’m too tired to get it up.” His fingertips just barely moved against the smooth skin of my lower abdomen, just above the waistband of my panties.

I turned and buried my face into my pillow so he wouldn’t hear me laugh. That was absolutely not what I was expecting in the least. I wasn’t sure who I was laughing harder at, him for his ridiculous confession, or myself for allowing that moment of fear to slip through. “That’s okay, Sleeping Beauty,” I told him after a deep breath to compose myself, wriggling in his grip until I could turn onto my other side, my nose a couple inches from his and my fingertips scratching lightly through his beard a couple times before I rested my palm on his cheek, “just get some rest, okay?”

He nodded, pushing his head forward so that his nose brushed mine, “I really do love you. More than anything.”

I had to smile at that. “I love you back, you big goof.” I leaned in to press my lips softly to his, my hand sliding back into his hair to cup the back of his head. “Now let’s go to sleep.”

***

It was no surprise that I awoke before Chris the next morning, after the state he was in when he got home. I took a few seconds to appreciate waking up next to him - the warmth of his chest at my back, the rhythm of his heartbeat against my shoulder, the heat of his breath as it washed across the side of my neck, his clean, slightly musky natural scent - then gently moved his hand off my hip and rested it on the mattress so I could slip as quietly and smoothly as possible out of the bed, waving for the dogs as I did. I grabbed a pair of flannel pj pants from the second drawer of my dresser and the three of us slipped out the door, the dogs chasing each other down the stairs and me closing the door softly behind me. I practically held my breath until I was downstairs. I knew Chris was a heavy sleeper, but I also knew how much he needed the sleep, and I didn’t want to take any chances. 

The door to the guest room Scott had stayed in had been open when I passed, the bed made, but I didn’t see him anywhere when I got downstairs. A quick peek at the front door showed me it was unlocked and the alarm panel was disarmed, both of which I knew not to have been true when I went to sleep, thanks to my disoriented husband’s fumbling as he came in, so I assumed Scott must have already slipped out for a run. 

With one Evans brother upstairs sleeping off a long travel day and probably suffering a jet lag hangover and another coming in off an early morning run, it seemed like a good day for a solid breakfast, something more elaborate and substantial than our usual cereal or egg and toast. I fed the dogs then set about gathering dry pancake ingredients from the pantry and pulling milk, butter, syrup, eggs, and bacon from the fridge. Finally I grabbed my apron from the hook on the pantry door and slipped it over my head, smiling to myself as I pulled a mixing bowl and whisk from the cabinet. It’s not like I needed to protect the tank top that had been retired from daily wear long, long ago or my pajama pants, but the apron always made him smile. Apparently, it was  _ fuckin’ adorable.  _

I hummed to myself as I worked - mixing pancake batter, heating the griddle on the counter top, getting the bacon in the oven and starting the coffee maker - going without the music I would normally play in favor of continuing to keep things as quiet as possible. I’d cooked about half the pancake batter and had pulled the bacon from the oven, lowering the temperature and putting in the finished pancakes to keep them warm, when I felt a pair of large, warm hands on my hips as I moved the bacon onto a paper towel-lined plate. I stilled, resting my hands on the counter and letting my eyes flutter closed as he stepped closer, sliding his hands around my waist under my apron and pressing a kiss to the back of my head.

“Good morning baby,” he murmured into my hair. I smiled and leaned back against him.

“Hey you, good morning. How’d you sleep?”

He kissed the side of my head as I rested it against his collarbone then scoffed. “Fuckin’  _ hard _ . Weird though.” 

My brow furrowed a little. “What’s that?”

I felt him shrug behind me. “I don’t know, I mean, it was great to wake up in my own bed again, but it was less great without you there, or without even getting to talk to you before I went to sleep.”

I tilted my head up and to the side to try to see him a little bit, “Well, I mean, we didn’t have a  _ conversation _ .”

He sighed. “I know baby, I’m sorry.” He tilted his head down to kiss my forehead as I continued to look up at him and his thumbs rubbed over my hipbones through the shirt I wore, “It was fuckin’ late, I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

I narrowed my eyes a little as I turned in his arms. I rested my palms on his bare chest and it occurred to me for the first time that he didn’t know Scott had stayed over the previous night, since we hadn’t had much chance to talk since his brother had shown up at our front door, bags in hand. I was just glad he’d bothered to put on pants. It wouldn’t have mattered, really, if he hadn’t. He and Scott had grown up together, after all. Still, he probably wouldn’t have loved being caught in his underwear (or less - it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d meandered down from the bedroom fully naked) by his brother when he hadn’t known he was even there. 

“Sweetie, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened when you came in.” I encouraged, my fingertips tracing softly through the hair on his chest.

“I …” he trailed off, looking down at me a little funny, like I was speaking gibberish or something, “came in, locked up, came upstairs and got undressed, got into bed, and passed out,” he made a show of heaving an exaggerated sigh and putting on a childish pout. “Then I woke up all alone, but to the smell of coffee and bacon,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “so a decent consolation prize, I guess.” He leaned down and I let him kiss me before bursting his bubble.

“Oh sweetie, no.” My nose scrunched and I shook my head. He just lifted one eyebrow and cocked his head a little to the side, looking down at me questioningly. I slid my hands down his chest and stomach and wrapped them low around his back, my fingers twining together, before telling him, “You came in, slammed the door, totally failed at setting the alarm,  _ kicked _ your shoes off, from the sound of it, stumbled up the stairs, came into the bedroom and shushed the dogs, who were silent, by the way, tripped over the chair trying to get your pants off, and practically fell into bed.”

His eyes grew wider with every word I said, and when I finally finished, a little breathless and making a show of sucking in oxygen, he said, “Fuck, I did not.”

I smirked, “Oh, I’m not finished.”

He lifted his hands until his arms draped over my shoulders and hung behind me and dropped his head so that his chin hit his chest. “Shit.”

I batted my eyelids up at him a couple times before telling him, “You wiggled under the blankets, dragged me halfway across the bed, snuggled up against my back, and said,  _ You know I love you, right? _ ”

“Well hey,” he curled one arm loosely around my shoulders and ran the fingers of the other hand through my hair, starting at the crown of my head then slipping down to tuck my hair behind my ear and working his way down until he was pulling it gently from under his other arm as he spoke, “so I kinda saved it then, yeah?” He arched his eyebrows hopefully.

“Still not finished.”

He squeezed my shoulder with the hand that had been hanging in front of it and slid the other from my hair to throw it up into the air over our heads. “Let’s hear it.”

“Well, after I told you that I do, in fact, know that you love me -”

He cut me off, “‘Cause you’re a smart woman.” His expression had shifted from embarrassed and shameful to exaggerated silliness and his free hand landed on my hip, working with the one still on my shoulder to pull me close. My hands flattened on his chest, caught between us, and he kept his arm thrown around my shoulders but flicked his wrist to turn his hand until his fingers caught my chin and he tilted my face up toward him. 

Each time we kissed it felt like it had been too long since the last time, but that time, his lips plucking and pulling at mine as he held my body tight against his, the week that he’d been gone felt like a lifetime. Sure, we’d shared a brief, sleepy kiss the night before (that he didn’t even remember, apparently), mere seconds before he’d passed out, and I would never say no to those, but it hadn’t set my pulse to racing and my toes tingling the way that one was doing. 

Finally he pulled away, my head buzzing and my eyes probably a little glazed over as he traced the vein on the side of my neck with the fingertips of one hand and the others pressed into the small of my back where his hand had slid around and slipped under my shirt. My own hands had moved up his chest until my nails bit into the taut muscles of his shoulders. That kiss had maybe gotten a bit more intense than either of us had intended, but neither of us was going to complain, either, I knew that much.

I took a deep breath and tried to blink away the flush creeping up my chest and neck and onto my cheeks and managed to smirk a little as I told him, “And I love you too.” I lifted one hand to the side of his face to curl around his jaw, my thumb sliding over his cheek, and pushed up onto my toes just enough to press a kiss to his chin, his beard long enough to be soft under my lips. “And like I was saying, after I assured you that I do, in fact, know that you love me, you said you were glad, because you were too tired to get it up to show me how  _ much _ .” I kept as straight a face as possible as I said it.

“Oh god.” He took a step back and moved both hands to my hips to hold me in place. I let my own hands fall back to his chest. “You’re not serious.” His eyes roamed my face, looking for a hint that I was making it up just to tease him. Even as I laughed, I could tell that he knew I was serious; I’d never been good at teasing or tricking him, because from the beginning he’d been able to read me like a book, and in that case he was likely reading amusement but absolute honesty.

I continued to laugh as I watched him roll his eyes at himself and his face fell. “I’m very, very serious,” I told him.

He groaned audibly then, and once he stopped, with a little huff, he pulled me closer again so that he could drop his forehead to mine. “Well, if it helps at all, I meant every word.” He didn’t move at all, but when he’d finished he opened his eyes and lifted them from the floor so that he was peering up at me through his lashes.

I kept my right hand on his chest and pressed it a little tighter over his heart and lifted the other to run the backs of my fingers softly over his cheek. “I know you did.” He finally lifted his head to look at me more squarely when I traced over and behind his ear then rested my hand on the side of his neck where it met his shoulder. “You really don't remember any of it?” 

“Zip.” He popped the  _ p  _ a little for emphasis.

“Were you drunk?”

He shook his head. “No,” he answered calmly, shrugging. He knew I wouldn’t have been upset if he had been drinking, it would have just explained a lot, that’s all. “I had one drink right at the beginning of the flight, but, ya know,” his right hand flew off my hip for a second, landing heavily right back where it had started, “it's a five-hour flight.” Right. It would’ve had to have been a hell of a drink for him to have been drunk when he got home. He shrugged again, “I guess I was just that fuckin' exhausted, from the busy day, hell, busy  _ week _ , and the late flight. I think I fell asleep in the car ride from the airport. I guess I was still half out of it when I came in.” 

I couldn’t help but sigh a small sigh of relief, gratitude, really. “Thank you for finally agreeing to hire a car.” My hand pressed a little more tightly against his skin and my thumb drifted up and down from the corner of his jaw to the base of his neck.

He pulled his head back, tilting it a little to one side, and narrowed his eyes a bit as his mouth opened to protest. I knew exactly what he was going to say, that he could’ve stayed awake if he’d had to, but I gave him my most forceful version of what had once upon a time been my ‘teacher look’ - I even went so far as to take half a step back and bring my hands to rest on his ribs so that I created a sort of bubble of space between us - and his mouth snapped closed again. “You're welcome,” he said after a second’s hesitation, his voice small and contrite. 

I gave him a satisfied smile and relaxed my arms and he grinned as he stepped closer to close the gap I’d created. By the time his hands slid around my hips to rest on my lower back, he looked far too proud of himself. I reached up with one hand, resting my fingertips on his lips. I was going to scold him again, just mildly, but he kissed the tip of my middle finger, then parted his lips to scrape his teeth over it, and a chill ran down my spine, only to be quickly replaced by heat low in my belly as my brain quickly and without my permission conjured up images of just where else I’d like those lips and teeth to go. I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “Just so you know,” I told him, and he looked down at me like he knew a secret he was just waiting to tell me, “I'm confident enough in how much you love me to let it go once, but I’m gonna want proof tonight.”

His grin only grew and turned a little bit wicked and my hand fell from his smirk to his shoulder. “Fuck that,” he growled, and I gasped a little as he fully invaded my personal space, lifting his hands from the small of my back to tug at the apron straps tied around my waist and walking me back a step and a half until I bumped into the front of the stove. I felt my apron fall open, the ties hanging limply down the sides of my legs, as he slipped his hands under the elastic of both my pants and my panties and slid them down until he cupped my ass. He leaned down and claimed my mouth, tugging at my bottom lip gently with his teeth then sliding his tongue past my lips. I arched back over the stovetop as he moved his lips over mine and licked rhythmically, almost filthily, into my mouth. He pulled away just as I curled one hand around his neck and slid the other around his ribcage and up his back until it hooked over his shoulder from behind. “I’ll give you proof now,” he said, his voice low and gravelly and a little breathless.

I was dangerously close to forgetting that it was a very bad idea to let him do that right then and there, but I heard the  _ click  _ of the front doorknob and managed to almost whimper, “You might wanna reconsider that.”

He didn’t seem to realize I was serious, because he smirked deviously and ducked his head to press his lips to the side of my neck. He pressed one sloppy kiss to my pulse point and murmured against it, “Why?” before grazing his teeth lightly over the skin and following the bite with a torturously slow swipe of his tongue. 

I was a fraction of a second away from losing my hold on the tiny shred of self-control I’d managed to maintain when I heard an emphatic  _ Eww _ from the other side of the room. When I managed to lift my head and focus my eyes, Scott was filling his water bottle from the front of the fridge. “Get a room,” he snarked just before taking a long pull from the bottle. 

Chris hadn’t moved at all except to tighten his grip on my ass and press his face into the crook of my neck and shoulder. He groaned and I felt the vibrations against my skin. “That’s why,” I told him, loosening my grip on his neck and shoulder and sliding both hands to his hips to rest them more safely over the cotton of his sweatpants. 

He continued to hold onto me as he lifted his head to rest his chin on top of my head and turned until he could, I assumed, see Scott out of the corner of his eye. “I paid for this house, they’re all our fucking rooms.” I watched over his shoulder as Scott just rolled his eyes and headed for the dining room table, water bottle still in one hand and the other pulling his phone from the band around his bicep. Chris watched him until he was seated then said, loud enough for Scott to hear, “I didn't know Tweedle-Dum was here.” 

He finally loosened his grip on me enough that he could take half a step backward and I could stand up straight without the oven handle digging into my back, sliding his hands up until only his ring and pinkie fingers lingered under the waistband of my pants. “He came over yesterday,” I told him. “He needed a break from being mommed.”

“So he decided to come  _ here _ , the day before I come home?” He spoke so loudly I was sure that not only did he not care if Scott heard, but that the comment was actually meant for him more than me.

Scott didn’t even look up from scrolling through his phone. “Oh relax, I’ll only be here a couple days then I’m headed back to L.A. You’d think you’d be happy to see me. Or, you know,  _ grateful  _ that I was here to keep your poor bride company while you were off at the Oscars. Without either of us.”

Oh right, that. I didn’t think Scott was actually upset about Chris taking Shanna to the awards. He’d been to so many events with Chris, and it had been a long time since Shanna had gotten to go to anything that wasn’t a whole family affair. That hadn’t stopped him from making a lot of snide comments, though.

“Yeah, well, since you’re so concerned about my wife, you’re gonna want to start announcing yourself before you come into a room if you have a problem seeing me kiss her.”

Scott scoffed. “Kissing I can handle. It’s the groping I could do without.”

Chris shrugged and pulled me against him again, “Like I said, our house.”

I huffed and pinched his side. “Christopher!”

He looked down at me with wide, faux-innocent eyes. “You want me to lie?” He grinned when I rolled my eyes and he leaned down to kiss first the left corner of my mouth, then the right, then to press his lips firmly against mine. He finally slid his hands fully out of my pants, wrapping his right arm around my waist and pulling me with him when he leaned us to my right, my own hands fisting the elastic at the top of his pants for balance and support, so that he could reach to pull the plug of the griddle from the outlet in the wall. “Scott,” he called when he pulled away, his eyes boring into mine and his hand moving from the cord to the strap around my neck and yanking the apron quickly over my head and out from between us and tossing it aside, “there’s pancakes and bacon over here. Eggs too, but you’ll have to cook them yourself.” He grinned and started to walk backward, taking me with him with the arm around my waist and trailing the fingertips of his other hand down the side of my neck then my chest. Scott only hummed, his thumbs flying over his phone screen. “Eat what you want and let the dogs out in a bit. You need anything else, too bad. We’re busy.” There was a part of me that thought maybe I should protest, be a good host, not reward him for bad behavior. But that part was just a fraction of a fraction of the rest of me, which just wanted my husband to make good on his promise to show me how much he loved me. I kept my mouth shut and moved with him out of the kitchen as he pressed kisses to my jaw.

Chris had managed to walk us to the hallway by the time Scott called out, “TMI!”

“Don’t care,” Chris called back when we were at the bottom of the stairs, just before squatting and wrapping his arms securely around my thighs, standing back up swiftly so that I folded at the waist, right over his shoulder. I squealed a little and considered pounding on his back and demanding that he put me down, then he turned and headed up the stairs and I decided to just enjoy the view until we were in the privacy of our bedroom.


End file.
